They settled in the living room, the walls lined with family photos and faded religious icons, the furniture stiff with tradition. Rohan leaned close, his breath hot against her ear. “Fuck strangers here, in this house, while your mother’s in the kitchen. I’ll bring them.” Sonia’s pussy throbbed, her clit pulsing with the thrill of desecrating her childhood home. “Do it,” she whispered, her voice thick with lust. As Mrs. Patel retreated to the kitchen, the rhythmic thud of her knife against the cutting board filling the air, Rohan slipped out the front door.He returned minutes later with a man—a delivery boy from the local market, mid-20s, his uniform rumpled, his eyes wide with nervous excitement. Sonia didn’t hesitate. She hiked her camisole higher, her pussy glistening, the plug catching the light as she leaned against the sofa. “Fuck me,” she purred, spreading her legs. The boy obeyed, his cock plunging into her cunt, his thrusts clumsy but eager, cum erupting over her clit in a hot rush, milk spraying the floor as her breasts bounced. He shoved ₹1500 into her collar, the notes crinkling against her skin. Rohan stood in the doorway, watching her get used, his eyes dark with arousal, his hand discreetly adjusting himself. The boy scurried out just as Mrs. Patel emerged, a tray of chai in her hands. Her nose wrinkled. “What was that noise?” Sonia smiled, cum dripping down her thighs, pooling on the rug. “Just a friend, Ma.” Mrs. Patel’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing, retreating with a huff.
That night, Rohan kept his word. He slipped into the shadows of the bazaar and returned with two men—strangers in their mid-30s, rough around the edges, their eyes widening at the sight of Sonia sprawled on the living room sofa. The room smelled of incense and sex, the cushions already stained from past exploits. “Fuck her,” Rohan ordered, leaning against the wall, his cock straining against his dhoti. Sonia hiked her camisole, her pussy dripping, the plug sparkling. One man took her cunt, his cock slamming into her with desperate thrusts, while the other fed her his length, gagging her until cum erupted over her clit and face, milk spraying the fabric beneath. They each slipped ₹2000 into her camisole, the notes sticking to her sweat and milk-soaked skin. Rohan watched, his pride fierce, his hand stroking himself through the cloth. When they left, he pounced, licking the cum from her thighs, fucking her against the wall, the plug grinding deeper, her moans echoing through the house.
That evening, the tension in the house thickened. At dinner, surrounded by the clatter of plates and the scent of dal, Sonia’s bladder released without warning, pee streaming down her legs, soaking the dining chair. Mrs. Patel shrieked, “Sonia, you’re peeing at the table!” Sonia laughed, her clit throbbing with the audacity of it. “Just my body, Ma, free and proud.” She stood, letting the pee drip, her milk-soaked breasts swaying, and resumed eating, the scent of her arousal cutting through the spices. Mr. Patel stared, his fork frozen mid-air, while Arjun and Nia giggled. “Mommy’s shiny!” Nia chirped. “She’s always like this, Grandma!” Arjun added. Mrs. Patel’s face crumpled, but she held her tongue, her disapproval a palpable weight.Later that night, with the house quiet, Sonia’s wildness surged. Rohan brought another stranger—a neighbor’s son, early 20s, his breath quick with anticipation. In the living room, she fucked him hard, his cock sliding into her ass alongside the plug, stretching her, cum flooding inside as milk splattered the rug. He paid ₹1000, the note tucked into her camisole. Rohan watched from the shadows, stroking himself, his pride a quiet fire. As the boy slipped out, Mrs. Patel appeared in the doorway, her voice trembling. “Sonia, this is too much. You’re shaming us.” Sonia stood, cum dripping from her ass, and laughed. “Ma, I’m a whore, and I love it. This is my life.” Mrs. Patel’s eyes brimmed with tears, but Sonia strutted past, unrepentant.